Busy with work, he was able to pass some time without a full-blown cockstand. But as the hours passed and more gentlemen made use of the courtesans, his mind wandered back to Julienne.
Beautiful, untouchable Julienne.
He’d watched her draw wallflowers out of their shells and turn the Beau Monde’s social dragons into purring pussycats. And he coveted her gentle regard.
Lucien left the main floor and made his way upstairs. Before he realized it, he stood in the bedroom he reserved for his own use when the lateness of the hour or sheer exhaustion made it impractical to go home. He hesitated in front of the connecting door to the Sapphire Room. His erection was back, hot and throbbing in the tight confines of his trousers. He rested his forehead gently against the portal, knowing Julienne was just inside, so close. Achingly close.
He paused and took a deep breath. He reached for the doorknob and was gratified when it turned. Julienne hadn’t had the foresight to turn the lock. Fortuitous, or a disaster? Lucien couldn’t be certain. A gentleman would walk away. Of course, a gentleman wouldn’t have come up here in the first place.
But then he’d never claimed to be a gentleman.
Before he could think better of it, Lucien pushed the door open and walked right in.
Chapter Two
Julienne woke, alerted to the presence of someone else in the room. She was a light sleeper, always had been, and she lay quietly, attempting to ascertain who’d entered.
“You’re awake.”
She stiffened. That velvety voice was unmistakable. Sitting up in the massive bed, she held the sheet to her neck and glanced toward the door. Light filtered in around Lucien Remington’s tall form, casting half his features in shadow. He looked like the devil incarnate, all raw power and luscious dark masculinity.
“You woke me,” she censured in a sleep-husky voice, her body taut as a bow. Her dreams had been fraught with images of him. His hands on her, his lips melded to hers, his hard body pinning her down . . . Nocturnal fantasies she enjoyed with only the tiniest amount of guilt. “This is most improper, Mr. Remington,” she said sharply, hiding the heady excitement she felt. “Why are you here?”
He came toward her with his long-legged stride, a sexual predator in motion. Stopping by the bed, he lit the taper on the side table. His mouth fell open when the circle of light revealed her.
“Jesus! You’re naked!” he accused, stumbling backward with an expression of horror.
“Hence the reason you should not be in here.” Julienne pulled the sheet up higher and gestured with a toss of her chin toward the transparent negligee slung over a chair. “Being naked seemed no better or worse than wearing that.”
He never took his eyes from her. “I should have allowed you to leave,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
She colored. “You should leave. You have no right to enter my room.”
He’d backed up almost to the door when she stopped him. “Has my brother arrived?” she asked eagerly, pushing her hair away from her face.
Remington stood frozen by the doorway. “No,” he croaked. “Montrose is not here.” He stared at her for a long moment before blurting, “Are you comfortable?”
“Am I—?” Julienne frowned, confused by the sudden change in topic. “Yes, I was quite comfortable.”
“And the food? Did you enjoy it?”
“The food was excellent.” She smiled. “Your entire establishment is breathtaking. I’d heard rumors, of course, and Hugh—er, Montrose—raved about the beauty of this place, but nothing equals actually seeing it with my own eyes. It’s very impressive. I admire what you’ve accomplished here.”
“You ad—?” He swallowed hard. “Thank you. I’m pleased you like it.”
“You must hear that often.”
“Actually,” he admitted, “that was the first instance where someone other than my parents expressed admiration for me.”
“Oh.” Julienne didn’t know what to say. She knew what others said about him, but she was saddened to realize he knew it as well. “Is that why you came? To check on my welfare?”
An uncomfortable silence descended.
“Perhaps I’ve come to ravish you,” he said finally.
She choked and then laughed aloud, even as her stomach did a little flip. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Remington’s eyes widened. “Why? You don’t believe I would want to ravish you?”
Julienne rubbed her forehead and shook her head, wondering if she was dreaming this mad encounter. “Mr. Remington, you are the handsomest man in all of England. Your reputation is well known to me. I am aware a libertine like you would have no interest in a green debutante like myself.”
He moved toward her again with painful slowness, as if he pulled against his will. “The handsomest man in England?” he queried softly. “Is that your personal opinion, or one you repeat from the mouths of others?”
She twisted at the waist as he approached, hiding her bare back. “Both,” she admitted. She raised a finely arched brow. “I did not take you to be a man of vanity, Mr. Remington, but if you are, and you require confirmation of your attractiveness, I would be more than happy to oblige you . . . in the morning. At the present time, I would appreciate—”
“I’m curious, my lady,” he interrupted, his mouth curving intimately. “How would you confirm my attractiveness?”
Julienne grew wary at the hot flicker she saw in his eyes, the same look he’d given her in his office. She liked it, but Lord above, she was naked! The whole situation was . . . thrilling . . . but far beyond her experience. Clutching the sheet firmly with one hand, she held out the other to halt his advance. He stopped immediately. “What do you want?”
“To ravish you.”
He said it so simply, his expression so earnest, that she was momentarily rendered speechless. Oh, he was wicked. And far more interesting than the other men of her acquaintance.
“You can have any woman you want.”
“No.” His smile was wistful. “I can’t have you.”
Her breath caught.
“You’re very good,” she said finally, honestly awestruck. She’d never seen such a talented rogue. “Charming, seemingly sincere. I can see how you’ve managed so many conquests. But really, I am not worth the effort, I assure you, although I am flattered.”
Remington laughed. “Sweetheart, you’re amazing. You dress as a man to sneak into my club, tolerate my extorting you into spending the night, and then feel flattered when I barge into your room and tell you I want to ravish you.” His voice softened when he said, “I wish I could keep you.”
The expression on his face made her heart race. Julienne felt light-headed and dizzy all over again. Then she was struck with a thought that made sense, unlike all the others that swirled in her head. “Have you been drinking?”
He moved casually to the chair and sat. “Tell me why you want to find your brother, and I’ll tell you why I came in here.”
“If you’re interested in conversing with me, can you at least allow me to dress?”
His blue eyes glittered with eagerness. “In the negligee or the trousers?”
Her mouth fell open. This really had to be a dream. An odd, wonderful, bizarre dream. “I don’t know how to deal with a man like you, Mr. Remington.” She was out of her depth.
“You can start by calling me Lucien,” he suggested. “Then you should probably begin screaming. Most debutantes would have run from the room in terror by now. I’m a stranger to you except for my scandalous reputation, which decries me as a hedonistic seducer of women.”
She smiled. “I’m not afraid of you. You’ve no need to force yourself on a woman.”
“Who said I would have to force you?” he purred seductively.
“Good grief,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You deliberately cultivate your image, don’t you? I’d wager you’re not as bad as they say.”
One side of his mouth twitched in amusement. “No,” he agreed. “I’m much worse. If you weren’t the purest, sweetest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, I would have already had you on your back, with your heels in the air.”
Julienne’s mouth parted in surprise, and she looked away, her face flushed. He was a perfect scoundrel to say such things, but she didn’t care. Strong, virile, and devastatingly handsome, Lucien Remington was her fantasy come to life. He had been since the first moment she’d seen him at the Milton country rout.
Taller than most of the other men there and heavily muscled like a common laborer, Lucien had permanently imprinted himself on her memory when he’d inclined his head toward her with a rakish wink. She’d not passed one night in the month since without dreaming of him in ways no proper lady would dream about any man, not even their husbands.
Ah, what she wouldn’t give to be brazen and desirable, if only for a moment. She would love to be the kind of woman who could retain the interest of a man like Lucien. The thought made her sigh aloud.
“Bloody hell.”
She looked up in surprise and was startled by the anguished look on his face.
“What is it?” she demanded. “Why do you look like that?”
Lucien stood and rounded the backside of the chair, putting the piece of furniture between them as if she posed some grave threat to his person. “Because you look like that! I know what you’re thinking, and you must cease. Now.”
“My thoughts happen to be none of your business.” She waved toward the door. “The hour is late, and I’m tired. I’m undressed, and—”
“I wanted to watch you sleep.”
Julienne blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
“You asked me why I was here.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to watch you sleep.”
She frowned, confused. “Why would you want to do that?” Lucien Remington, notorious voluptuary, watching her sleep? How much more intimate that seemed than ravishment.
She studied him, noting his hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. It couldn’t be possible that he was interested in her. It was so against his known nature, she simply couldn’t credit it. He preferred mature, and usually married, women. “Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Rem—er, Lucien? Perhaps you are slightly in your cups?”
“I am not in my cups!” he growled. “But I am decidedly unwell. I’m coming undone. And damn it, the way you look at me tells me you feel the same. I’m not an honorable man, and I do not aspire to be one. I’ll take your innocence and walk away without looking back. You’ll be ruined, Julienne. I’ve been panting after you for weeks. Weeks.” He shoved away from the chair and began to pace. “I wish to God you had not come into my club.”
Julienne gaped. From the moment she’d arrived in London at the start of the Season, her life had seemed to turn completely upside down. Her brother was missing, creditors hounded Montrose Hall, and Lucien Remington wanted to bed her. She couldn’t decide which event was most disturbing. Her skin grew hot and tight, her body achingly uncomfortable.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” he snapped. “Shout at me. Call me a cad, or worse, if you have the coarse vocabulary to do so. Tell me to leave.” When she just stared at him, wide-eyed with incredulity, Lucien approached her and grabbed her by the shoulders. He shook her roughly. “Do something! Anything, damn it, to make me go.” His fingers kneaded restlessly against her skin, as if he couldn’t bear not to touch her.
She stared mutely at the ferocious man who held her. His voice, his words, his countenance—never in her life had she seen such passion. To think she had inspired such a display shocked her to silence.
And thrilled her.
“Tell me to leave,” he repeated harshly. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”
“Go,” she said, her voice so soft it was less than a whisper. But it was enough. Lucien released her and walked away with angry strides.
As the door closed behind him, Julienne felt an odd panic, as if once he left she would never see him again, which was partially true. She would never be allowed to speak to him, to touch him, since simply looking at him was a grave offense. Once he walked out that door, her time with him would be over. Forever.
And she simply couldn’t bear it.
“Lucien!” she cried in dismay, willing him to come back to her.
Instantly, the door swung open, and he was in her arms.
Chapter Three
Julienne La Coeur smelled heavenly. Her skin was like the finest silk, her breasts full and generously swelled as they pressed against his chest. Lucien didn’t understand why she’d called him back, but he wasn’t about to ask for an explanation.
“Sweet Julienne,” he murmured feverishly against her throat. “You should have allowed me to go.”
Her small, delicate hands slipped inside his velvet coat and slid across the smooth satin back of his waistcoat. “I tried.”
He rolled to the side and shrugged out of his coat, tossing the expensive garment carelessly to the floor. He turned back to her and then froze in place.
The sheet had slipped down to her waist, leaving her breasts exposed to his gaze. Firm and gently swaying from his near-frantic movements, they were more lovely than anything Lucien had seen in his life. “You are more beautiful than I imagined,” he breathed.
He watched in amazement as her skin flushed right before his eyes, rosy color sweeping across her chest before rising to her cheeks. His gaze studied her face, and he saw that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, meet his eyes. With his fingertips, he tilted the bottom of her chin upward, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. Not with me.”
